


Ransom

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: Whumptober 2019 [27]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Beating, Burns, Day 27, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Graphic Violence, Kidnapping, Loss of finger, Medical Care, Prompt: Ransom, Whumptober 2019, emotional distress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 12:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21197624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: No money will be given in exchange for Agent Bozer’s safe return.Bozer’s on his own.





	Ransom

**Author's Note:**

> Read the warnings. This one is very heavy and very violent.
> 
> Beta'd by [Secret_Library98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secret_Library98/pseuds/Secret_Library98).

"The crown prince of Nigeria, or close enough. I wonder what the going rate for those is these days?"

"Probably not as much as you think,” Bozer says with his best Nigerian accent. “But I've got ten million dollars I need to deposit in an American bank if you'll just give me your routing and account numbers."

Censure is swift, the back of a hand across Bozer’s mouth. He can taste blood and he spits the red liquid onto the floor beside his chair.

"Maybe you don't understand the gravity of the situation, _your highness,_ but if we don't get that ten million dollars you've got soon, I'll do a whole lot more to your pretty royal face than just slap it."

*****

"Mac, what do you mean 'someone snatched Bozer?'" Matty asks. 

"Well, we had embedded with the diplomatic envoy, and Bozer was playing the part of the Prime Minister's son. Shortly after we crossed from Cameroon into the DRC, three armored SUVs hit the convoy and snatched Bozer," Mac explains. "But he was the decoy for this exact reason. The Prime Minister arrived safely at the summit and talks are under way.”

Matty sighs and rubs her brow. “Okay, do you have any leads, at all, on where Bozer is now?”

Riley steps into view of the webcam holding up her laptop. “So we put an RFID tag in the sole of his shoe. It’s still transmitting and we’re planning a recon mission shortly.”

Matty nods, her face pinched with worry. “Go. Get our boy and bring him home.”

*****

After the initial video for proof of life, Bozer finds himself tossed into a basement room with no window. There’s a bucket for his bathroom needs, a fluorescent light in the ceiling, and a few blankets in a pile on the concrete floor. He tries to envision what Mac would make with the available material, how he would escape and somehow tie all the bad guys up at once. But the only thing Bozer can think of is making an escape rope with the blankets.... which does him no good since he’s in a basement. 

He sighs and sits down, leaning against the cinder block wall. He still has his shoes and he hopes that the signal from the chip is still reaching the team, wherever they are.

*****

The ransom video reaches Phoenix headquarters in less than an hour. The demands are simple — ten million American dollars in small, unmarked bills. They have four hours or they face unspecified “consequences.” 

“Mac, how are you doing finding a way to get Bozer out?” Matty asks after they’ve all watched the video.

“Well, we found what we think is the place where they’re holding him, but it’s fortified like you wouldn’t believe and we’re not exactly inconspicuous in the middle of the DRC. If we’re going to get Bozer, we’ll either have to grab him in transit or find a way to empty the compound,” Mac explains.

“I trust you, Mac,” Matty says, and he wonders if maybe, this time, that trust isn’t misplaced.

*****

When the door to the basement opens, Bozer is ready. He’s prepared his lines, practiced his accent, and reminded himself of why it’s so important that this summit go according to schedule. Bozer’s going to play the part until the cows come home. He’s ready. 

“Agent Bozer, I have something you should see.”

Of all the things, Bozer was prepared for, this was definitely not one of them. Roughly, he’s led up the stairs to the main floor and into an office.

“Sit,” the man says with a wave that indicates the rolling office chair. 

Bozer sits, aided by the hands of the guards that flank him pushing down on his shoulders.

“My name is Matilda Weber. I run a United States government agency. The man you are holding is not the son of the Prime Minister of Nigeria. He is, in fact, a US government agent. As you may or may not be aware, the United States has a standing policy of not negotiating with terrorists. As such, no money will be given in exchange for Agent Bozer’s safe return. However, rest assured that your failure to release our agent will result in consequences far more severe than you imagine. We’ll give you four hours until we act. I’d suggest you choose your next moves carefully.”

Matty’s words echo in Bozer’s head. 

_No money will be given in exchange for Agent Bozer’s safe return._

And sure, Matty promised to rain hell down on them, but no one is paying up and there’s no guarantee that anyone even knows where he is. Bozer’s on his own. 

Still stunned, Bozer moves largely on autopilot as he’s dragged away from the computer and down a series of halls. As the initial shock wears off, he tries to focus, to remember the maze of doors and corridors, but he missed the first few turns and now he’s well and thoroughly lost. Completely surrounded and unsure of how to escape, Bozer walks on until he’s led into a kitchen.

“Right or left handed?” the leader asks.

“Uh, right?” Bozer answers, his fake Nigerian accent now gone.

“I hope you appreciate my consideration,” the man says.

Suddenly, Bozer’s right hand is twisted behind his back, his left arm is stretched out beside him and held fast, and he’s pressed face first onto the countertop by two other men.

The moment he sees the cigar cutter, Bozer knows what’s about to happen. He shouts and struggles against his attackers, but he’s barely able to move with four men holding him in place. 

“I won’t take the whole thing; just a bit off the top.” Bozer can hear the flippancy in his voice, the sadistic glee that says he finds the whole thing just fascinating, and just as much as the cigar cutter being slipped over his little finger, that scares him.

Without warning, the cutter closes. The _snick_ and _crunch_ of the device makes his stomach turn, and when the pain hits a moment later, he vomits. When the cutter clips again to finish the job, Bozer grays out for a moment. By the time his vision clears, he’s already being frog-marched down another hallway. The pain in his left hand is agony, and more than once, he stumbles simply from the distraction of it.

When he’s tossed back into his basement cell, Bozer curls around his hand, squeezing it tight with his right hand to staunch the flow of blood. The door locks behind him and slowly the voices of his captors filter away down the hall. He’s left with nothing more than pain and the company of his own thoughts.

At best, an unsanctioned op will come for him. At worst, he’s been disavowed for operating on foreign soil. Either way, no one is going to be paying the ransom. There’s a real chance that Bozer’s not going home, that he’s going to die alone and hurt in the basement of some Congolese warlord’s personal compound. As the reality of his situation sets in, tears drip off his face and he cries until he’s too tired to go on.

*****

"We're at the drop site, Matty. What are we looking for?" Mac asks. 

"The email said a small cardboard box. Should be near the park sign."

"I got it!" Jack calls taking off at a run. 

"Jack, wait!" Mac and Matty call unison. "It could be a bomb," Mac reminds him. 

Looking slightly disappointed, Jack slows to allow Mac first approach. After a little careful poking, Mac declares it simply a box and cuts it open with his pocket knife.

"Oh my god," Mac whispers. 

Riley gasps. "Is that-"

"Yeah, Riley. It is," Jack confirms.

"Guys?" Matty asks cautiously.

Mac swallows his disgust and closes the small package. "They sent us his finger, Matty. The only good news is that, judging by the blood in the package, he was still alive when they cut it off."

"Oh god," Matty whispers and Mac can hear the subtle quaking of her voice. 

"What do we do now?" Jack asks. "We've got to do something."

"We _are_ going to do something," she assures them. "You're going to go get me all the recon you can. I'm calling JSOC. This ends now."

*****

By they come for him again, Boxer has decided that he won't be going gently into that good night. When he hears the door open, Bozer gets to his feet, the used waste bucket by his feet. 

As soon as the door opens, the first man catches a face full of shit and piss, and the man behind that gets a five-gallon bucket right to the side of the head. With two down, there are two to go and for a few glorious seconds Bozer manages to hold his own, doling out punches like he actually knows what he's doing. But the shouting draws more guards, and the first two men have regained their feet. Bozer's upper hand vanishes in a hail of fists and feet and pain.

*****

Riley pulls up the video feed, and Mac and Jack crowd close to watch. 

"I see that you have received our package and have had a change of heart. However, our terms have changed. You see, your agent here doesn’t seem to understand respect. The price is now twenty million dollars and I am afraid that we can no longer guarantee his safe return.”

Jack’s exclamation of, “What the fuck does that mean?” and Mac’s,” Shit, Boze what did you do?” overlap with Matty’s ice cold, “You _will_ regret this.” But all three quickly fall silent when Bozer, staggering and bleeding, is dragged into the frame.

“I am going to do you a favor. My men have learned respect, my men understand authority, but an agent such as yours is surely a liability to your organization. I’m sure we can both agree that he could stand to learn a thing or two about the proper order of things.”

Bozer, who’s barely standing as it is, is roughly forced to his knees where he wobbles uncertainly between the men holding him. The man running the show, someone Riley has yet to successfully identify, picks up a knife from the table on the left side of the screen. Roughly, and none too carefully, he cuts Bozer’s shirt away and throws it to the floor. Mac can see the way Bozer winces as the man cuts, the knife probably nicking his skin as it goes.

Matty’s voice, quiet and full of rage in a way Mac has never heard, crackles over the feed. “If you hurt him any more than you already have, I will personally-”

“You will do nothing!” the man shouts. “You will do what I say because I say it! And right now, you will watch.”

Bozer’s eyes track to the camera and Mac can’t help the tears that slip down his cheeks. He looks terrified, like he knows that he’s going to die. Mac seen that look before when someone finally realized that they weren’t going home — fear, anger, grief all rolled into one. And it terrifies Mac, too, because he’s not sure that Bozer _is_ coming home. JSOC has mobilized but they’re still eleven hours out, and there’s no guarantee that they have that kind of time. 

“Oh god,” Riley gasps.

Mac refocuses on the screen, and watches as the man grabs a metal coffee can from the table with a rag. Time seems to slow and Mac watches helplessly as the can tips and contents pour over Bozer’s exposed back. The scream that comes a second later, lagging from the satellite internet connection, is so loud that the speakers on Riley’s computer crackle. Riley turns, burying her face against Jack, her sobs audible over the torture playing out on the laptop screen.

Bozer struggles with renewed vigor, pulling and twisting against his captors, but there’s nowhere to go. Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is likely only a few seconds, the can is empty and tossed aside. Bozer’s screaming subsides into gasps, whimpers, and then hiccuping sobs. 

“You have four hours.”

The feed goes dead and Mac, Riley, and Jack are left standing on a dusty road staring at a blank laptop screen. 

“JSOC is still eleven hours out,” Riley says through tears. “They’re going to kill him. Even if they don’t and we somehow come up with the money, the acid-”

Mac shakes his head. “It wasn’t acid. It was hot oil. It’s probably already cooled enough that the oil still on his skin isn’t burning him.”

“Whatever,” Jack says angrily. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“We’re going to do whatever we need to,” Mac answers, waving towards their truck. “Come on. We’ve got a lot of work to do in four hours.”

*****

Bozer doesn’t go back to the basement cell, but he fades in and out of consciousness too many times to know where he ends up. The room, what of it he can see, is unpainted cinder block. There are cabinets with what look like medical supplies and a stainless steel table in the middle of the room. The men dragging him, and they are dragging him because he can’t keep his feet, hoist him face down onto the table and shackle his wrists and ankles to the table. 

His resolve not to cry in front of anyone dissolves when an older woman, who looks like this whole ordeal is just some great disappointment, treats the burns on his back. As she cuts away the blistered skin and scrubs the wounds, Bozer can’t help but scream, cry, and beg for her to stop. 

But the guards are in the room, and the woman doesn’t speak and she doesn’t relent. Finally, blessedly, Bozer can’t handle it anymore and passes out. 

When he wakes, he’s in the basement again, an IV in his hand and dressings covering his torso. He curls onto his side and stares into pitch black of the basement. Matty said they were coming, and he knows that the only reason they treated his wounds was to ensure that he lived long enough to get payment. But he also knows that there is no twenty million dollars anymore than there was ten million. No one is paying. Mac, Jack, and Riley will try but there are no guarantees. 

He feels hollow, empty, wrung out, and tired. He doesn’t want to feel anything or be anywhere. Bozer doesn’t think about Mac or Jack or Riley. He doesn’t imagine exfil or home. He just stares into the dark and tries to breathe softly because at least that doesn’t hurt so much.

*****

It goes off like clockwork. The first series of explosions takes down the wrought iron perimeter fence. The second takes out the first wave of foot soldiers. All subsequent waves, Jack mows down with the 50cal turret gun they bought off some arms dealer a few towns over. 

“You’re looking clear, Mac,” Jack says over the comms.

“Copy. Moving,” Mac replies. 

While smoke provides cover, he and Riley make their way into the compound. With all the commotion outside, the building is virtually empty and they follow the signal still coming from Bozer’s shoe to the basement. 

“Boze, hey. You down there?” Mac calls quietly into down the dark staircase.

“Mac?” 

Relief swells in Mac’s chest, but it’s tempered with the knowledge of what has happened and the fear of what more he might find.

“I got lookout,” Riley confirms.

Mac hurries down the stairs, using his phone as a flashlight. Quickly, he locates the switch and fluorescent lighting floods the room, the fixtures in the ceiling buzzing with renewed life. Mac stomach turns, and for the first time in a long, long time, he feels like he might be sick. Bozer is bruised, bloody, and his face so swollen Mac’s surprised he can even open his eyes. As he gets closer, the stink of burnt flesh fills his nostrils and he has to swallow repeatedly to forestall a complete rebellion by his stomach. 

Gently, Mac unscrews the IV line from the catheter in Bozer’s hand, leaving it in place for later use. “Come on, Boze. We’re gonna get you out of here and home,” Mac says softly. Bozer nods and Mac reaches down to help him up. “There’s no good way to do this. Everything is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t care,” Bozer mumbles through split lips. But even if he doesn’t care, he still cries out when Mac wraps an arm around his back to help him up the stairs. 

The only resistance they meet on their way out is defeated by Riley with a ceramic lamp to their assailant’s face. Outside, the ground is littered with bodies and there are holes in _everything._

Mac taps his ear. “We’re outside and we’ve got Bozer. Where’s exfil?”

“About thirty seconds out on your six!” Jack shouts. “Be ready to roll because I have not made any friends here and we’re gonna be drawing a lot of fire!!”

Mac can clearly hear the gunfire approaching their location, and he and Riley help lower Bower to the ground. “We copy. Ready when you are.”

When Jack peels around the corner of the building, they haul ass, diving into the bed of the truck. Jack floors it and within seconds they’re bumping along the main road to the highway. Before they hit paved road, their pursuers break off and from there it's bumpy but smooth sailing all the way to the hospital.

*****

Mac forestalls Matty's prying as long as he can. Part of it is because he's trying to be there for Bozer who's confused, scared, and trying to fight anyone who comes in the room. But part of it, too, is that Mac can't offer anything more to anyone else without coming apart. 

But Matty must have eyes on them because once Bozer is treated and set up in a private room, Mac's phone rings. “Update me, blondie,” Matty demands.

Mac sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s more than familiar with Bozer’s litany of injuries and the last thing he wants to do right now is revisit everything they just put Bozer through. But it’s Matty, and under the hard edge to her voice, Mac can hear her concern and fear. 

“He’s got third degree burns over sixty percent of his back, they’ve treated what’s left of his little finger, and he’s got numerous injuries from the beatings including lacerations, bruising, severe swelling, a concussion, and two cracked ribs. He’s been sedated and they don’t expect to bring him out of it for a least another day, maybe two,” Mac replies wearily. Normally, heavy sedation like this would be something to avoid, but after the last six hours it just seems like a mercy. 

"How long do they expect to keep him?" Matty asks.

"A week, maybe longer. It's hard to tell and we won't know more until they wake him up. What happened with JSOC?" Mac asks, hopeful that Matty will hear his unspoken request to change the subject.

"The few people Jack didn't mow down are either in custody or will be soon. The information they've gathered is taking down a huge criminal network throughout the DRC and Cameroon. Raids and arrests are going down all over." 

It’s a relief, a tiny shred of closure, but looking at Bozer’s beaten and broken body, it’s a hollow victory. 

“I’ve been up for thirty-two hours, Matty. I’m going to try to catch some sleep. I’ll update you if anything develops,” Mac says.

“I’m going to see on this end what we can do about a medical transport, at least as far as Germany. That region isn’t safe for you right now. I’ll let you know in a few hours what I’ve arranged.”

Mac nods, grateful. “Thanks, Matty.”

He curls into the plastic chair and does his best to rest with Bozer’s screams echoing in his ears.

*****

Some fuzzy sound makes Bozer try to blink, but his eyes hurt. When he moves, he realizes so does _everything else._ He groans and tries to shift to alleviate the discomfort of what feels like being in one place for too long. Gently, a hand closes around his, and Bozer can hear something, though he can’t quite make it out. 

“Bozer, hey.”

Bozer turns his head towards the source of the sound. “Mac,” he tries to say, but his voice cracks and he can’t get the sound out right.

“Yep, still me,” Mac says with a soft chuckle. “You want a little water?”

Bozer nods carefully and then there’s a straw between his lips, and he sucks greedily.

“Whoa, easy. Small sips,” Mac chides as he pulls the straw away.

“Imma kill you,” Bozer says, words coming easier with his mouth and throat partially rehydrated. “Gimme the water.”

Another voice that sounds suspiciously like Jack laughs in unison with Mac. But it doesn’t matter because the straw comes back along with its promise of cool water.

“How’s your pain?” Mac asks, his tone serious.

“Hurts,” Bozer mumbles. 

Jack snorts. “Well, I mean, yeah it hurts. But like should we call a doctor and ask for the good stuff?”

Bozer shakes his head. “I wanna be awake for a while.” But even as he says it, Bozer wonders if maybe being out wouldn’t be so bad. The longer he’s awake, the more he remembers things that he wishes he could forget. Fear and anger, shame and grief — all of it rises like bile. He chokes on it, can’t swallow past the lump in his throat. He wants to get away, to hide, to lick his wounds in private where no one can _see_ him. He wants, desperately, for someone to hold him until it’s better. But he’s stuck — tubes and monitors tethering him to the bed like shackles, and it’s like being trapped all over again, helpless against the situation in which he finds himself.

“Mac-” Bozer mumbles again, but he doesn’t know what he wants to say. He wants Mac to understand, but Bozer can’t get the words out, can’t explain what he’s feeling, sure as hell can’t say it front of Jack.

The tears that well in his still swollen eyes, the eyes he can’t even open, must be obvious, because Mac gently rubs his thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m right here, Boze. You’re safe now.”

Bozer nods, trying to put on a brave face. “How- how bad?”

“I’m not gonna lie, man,” Jack says. “You’re gonna have some gnarly scars, and this ain’t gonna heal up any time soon. But you’re gonna make it and this won’t be the end of your life. And the doctors said it looks like you’ll heal alright, no major complications so far. I’m just sorry this happened. I’m sorry you had to wait on us for so long.”

Bozer doesn’t worry that he’s crying now because it sounds like Jack is, too. “Thanks.”

“Anything, man. Anything at all.”

Talk turns to the movie that Jack’s been watching on his phone — Die Hard 3 — and Bozer interjects as much movie trivia as he can manage in between Jack’s fanboying over Bruce Willis and Mac’s complaining about realism. And somewhere in the middle of it Bozer realizes how ridiculous it was for him to think that they wouldn’t come. Of course they would. They did.


End file.
